Dancing

I dance. As always, it's with a man, in a white suit. He looks like every man I've ever danced with. We do the same dance, everytime, in the same ballroom I've been dancing in my whole life.

I've never gotten tired. I've never felt hungry or thirsty. I don't even know how I know what those things are. I've never learned. I've just danced, forever, as long as I remember.

It's the same dance. I can't describe it. I've never been taught it. I just do it. My legs know what to do. So do my arms, and my torso, and my feet. We twirl and twist, and suddenly it's time to switch.

I reach out, my hand meeting my next partner's hand. But, this partner isn't a man in a white suit. A man whose face blends in, a man who is always the same, no matter how different he is.

It's a girl. A girl in a black ball gown and black gloves, just like mine. Her electric blue eyes and infectious smile jolt me. Shake me. And then we dance.

It starts out like it always does, but it evolves. Evolves into a mess of giggling and yelps of joy. Sounds I never knew I could make. Jumping, dancing, leaping through the ballroom. And like that we switch. And she's gone.

I never did see her, the blue eyed, black haired girl. I never saw her infectious smile, her beautiful freckles. Never heard her beautiful laugh again.

Honestly I resent her. I was fine, dancing my dance, with the men in white suits. But she showed me something better. Showed me a dance I'd never danced. Made me happy, surprised, made me feel things. And then she'd left.

Abandoned me. Gave me a taste of what more I could have, then never gave it to me. 

But as much as I hate her, resent her, loathe her, I still wait for her.

Waiting for her to make me laugh. To make me smile. To make me feel.

I waited for the girl, but she never came.